


I.T.s beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

by WastingYourGum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Flirting, Fluff, Greg from IT, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21858946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: Mycroft wants to finish one last task before he goes home on Christmas Eve; his laptop has other ideas.What are the chances that someone from I.T. will be available to help? (And what are the chances the someone from I.T. will be drop dead gorgeous?)
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 50
Kudos: 241
Collections: Mystrade Holiday 2019





	I.T.s beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

"Oh, for…!" Mycroft bit back an expletive. "Anthea!"

His PA appeared around the edge of the open door between their offices. "Sir?"

"The connection has dropped _again_! I thought you said I.T. had fixed it?"

"They assured me they had. I'll get someone to check right away."

Mycroft sighed. I.T. were probably operating a skeleton staff like the rest of Whitehall on Christmas Eve. If he was lucky some spotty youth might be found to poke at the wires under his desk and scratch his head for twenty minutes before knocking off at 5pm for the holiday and leaving him no further forward. He'd probably end up having to go to his other more secure office to get access to the files he needed - and that would take valuable time away from the evening he had planned with an exceptionally good single malt whisky and a roaring fire.

"I'm going to go get a cup of tea. No," he forestalled Anthea's offer with a sharp gesture. "I'll fetch it myself, I need to stretch my legs." He stood up and strode towards the outer office door pausing at her desk. "Would you like anything?"

"No, thank you, Mr Holmes." Anthea smiled at the role reversal. Mycroft knew a lot of his colleagues would sooner disembowel themselves with a letter opener than fetch something for their assistants but he wasn't most men - and Anthea certainly was not most assistants.

He rolled the cricks from his neck as he made his way along the corridor to the small kitchen area where he swiftly made a small pot of tea before placing it on a tray. He was about to leave before he reconsidered and stopped to add a few of Anthea's favourite biscuits on a small plate. The fact they were also his favourites was neither here nor there.

When he returned, Anthea nodded towards his now closed door.

"I.T. sent someone up. He's in there now."

Mycroft pushed open the door with his foot and was met with a spectacular vision of the most enticing denim-clad arse he'd ever clapped eyes on, bent across his desk.

It was such a magnificent posterior, he almost dropped the tray.

Anthea, as ever anticipating his needs, had already risen from her chair. She took the tray from him and set it on her desk. "I'll bring you in a cup in a few minutes, sir."

"What? Yes, yes, thank you. I… I got you some biscuits."

"Ooh, any [Bourbons](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bourbon_biscuit)?" The gluteal beauty suddenly swung to one side and a ruggedly handsome face topped by a dazzling crown of silver hair appeared from over the other side of the desk and smiled hopefully up at him.

Mycroft would have shot the Prime Minister, deposed the Monarch and fired every nuclear weapon the country had if it would have obtained him some Bourbon biscuits in that instant.

"S-sorry, no. There's ah, there are [Custard Creams](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Custard_cream) or… I think there were some [Hobnobs](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hobnob_biscuit) in the kitchen?"

"Naah, don't go to any bother." The man levered himself up off the desk, biceps straining against a snug black t-shirt as he did so. "I love a Custard Cream." He slid one off the plate, popped the entire biscuit into his mouth and happily crunched it into oblivion.

Mycroft had never before in his life wanted to be a Custard Cream so badly. He had to physically restrain himself from wiping away the few small crumbs that lingered at the edges of the man's lips… with his tongue.

"I'll go get another cup, shall I, Mr Holmes?" Anthea asked, already heading for the door.

"Y-yes, thank you, Anthea. Yes. You, uh, you're from I.T.?"

"Oh God, yeah, sorry. Terrible manners!" The man wiped the crumbs from his hand on the leg of his jeans and held it out. "Greg Lestrade."

"Mycroft Holmes," Mycroft said as he shook it. The man's hand was large, warm and slightly rough. "You're not what I was expecting, I must admit."

"Thought we'd send you up a mono-syllabic teenager?"

"Well…"

"Most of the support technicians aren't too far off that description to be fair - though they're all good lads - but there was a higher-level clearance flag attached to your office and nearly everyone else who qualified has already buggered off. So you got me... Sorry for the casual dress by the way - wasn't really expecting to be doing any customer facing stuff today and I had a bunch of things needed moving around. Mind you, it's quite nice to do some more hands-on stuff again. Been a few years since I was grubbing around under desks rather than sitting behind one!"

Mycroft was profoundly grateful for the cheerful chatter as it gave him some vital moments to locate and then regain his sanity from where his libido was attempting to beat it unconscious in a dark alley with a big stick labeled "thick fingers".

"You - You're the manager?"

"For my sins."

"It's very good of you to come up personally."

"Just doing my job. Couldn't leave you in the lurch at this time on Christmas Eve. I'm guessing there's something critical you have to get done before you can pop home to the wife and kids."

"Something like that, yes. Though I'm not married - so the only thing waiting at home is some rather nice whisky."

Was that smile at the thought of the alcohol or Mycroft's availability?

"Lucky you! Let me guess… Something smoky… An Islay, maybe… Laphroaig!"

The alcohol - of course it was.

"That is indeed one of my favourites but no. You're correct that's it's an Islay malt, however. This evening's selection is a Lagavulin."

Lestrade whistled softly. "Nice. I'd better get this sorted so you can get to it then, hadn't I?"

"And so you can get home to your family."

"Same boat as you, Mr Holmes. Single man with a single malt waiting. Balvenie in my case. Can't beat the classics."

Lestrade had walked round to the other side of Mycroft's desk again. He ducked under it and Mycroft could hear him moving various cables and connectors.

A few seconds later he reappeared and moved to one side. "Right, try that."

Mycroft sat down, pulled his laptop towards him and attempted to access the system that had thwarted him earlier.

It connected first time. "Wonderful! Thank you!"

"You're welcome."

"I, umm… I wonder if I may ask a small indulgence?"

"Yeah?"

"I should only be a few moments but I'd hate for something to go wrong again. Could you possibly wait until I'm done in case it drops again?"

Lestrade sucked in a breath through his teeth and scratched his chin."Ooh... Dunno about that. It'll cost you another Custard Cream."

Mycroft laughed. "A price I am all too willing to pay."

"Alright then. I don't have any other calls waiting so I can loiter here for a minute longer."

He perched on the edge of the desk and munched another biscuit as Mycroft finished looking up the figures he required.

He had just copied the last column of digits when the screen flickered and the dreaded "Connection Lost" message popped up.

"Bugger. That shouldn't happen." Lestrade came round the desk and started inserting himself underneath it past Mycroft's knees.

"Oh, that's… I got what I needed, thank you. It's not…"

"No, I don't like to leave something not right. Hang on…" He wiggled further in displaying the same assets that had caused Mycroft's brain to short circuit earlier.

Mycroft gripped the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white and counted to ten in his head, very slowly, in Serbo-Croat.

"Aha!" Lestrade popped up again and sat back on his heels beside Mycroft, grinning. "Found it."

"You found the problem?"

"Yup! Want to know?"

"I'm all ears."

"You."

" _Me_?"

"More precisely, these lovely long legs of yours. Your feet are catching this cable here and loosening it enough that the connection drops. There should be a little plastic catch on it to stop that happening but it must've snapped off. I'll make a note to fit a replacement cable next week."

Mycroft's brain had stopped processing at "lovely long legs".

Lestrade looked at him, and then his eyes widened as he realised what he'd just said. "Oh. Oh, I'm… Sorry, that was… I meant..."

The blush somehow made him even more impossibly attractive.

"No apology required, I assure you. They are indeed long, though I find they reach the ground perfectly for my height."

Lestrade chuckled. "Handy that."

"I'm... I'm looking forward to stretching them out in front of a fire later as I enjoy my whisky. Would you… Would you care to join me? I'd be interested in a second opinion on the Lagavulin and you seem to know your malts."

"That's umm, that's very generous of you, Mr Holmes."

"Mycroft."

"Mycroft. I'd… I'd love to. Thank you. And it's Greg."

"Greg. I should be finished here in about ten minutes."

"I just need to get my coat from downstairs."

"I'll see you in the lobby at five then?"

"Yeah. Looking forward to it."

Greg stood up, backed away towards the outer office door, gave a half wave and vanished out into the corridor.

Mycroft smiled then dragged his attention back to the screen in front of him.

"Oh dear, has he left already? It took me ages to find another cup." Anthea reappeared at the door a couple of minutes later bearing a cup and saucer and an utterly insincere look of contrition.

Mycroft paused his typing, looked up and gave her a look that clearly if non-verbally conveyed that she wasn't fooling anybody, least of all him.

"He has. I shall apologise to him on your behalf when I see him later."

Anthea smiled hugely before she caught herself and resumed her professional demeanour. "Would you like that cup of tea now, sir?"

"I fear that pot may have oversteeped. But do please take the remaining biscuits. And make a note to add Bourbons to the departmental shopping list."

"I thought they weren't one of your favourites, sir?"

"They're not - but we should be prepared to offer more variety to our guests, don't you think?"

""Definitely."

"Anthea?" He called after her as she turned away. "Thank you. And Merry Christmas."

She nodded. "Merry Christmas to you too, sir. And good luck tonight."

Mycroft resumed his typing. He'd have to hurry to be done by five but it would be worth the effort when something so deliciously tempting was waiting… and some nice whisky as well...

**Author's Note:**

> Rampantly self-indulgent fluffy flirting. Sorry not sorry for the title!
> 
> I think the IT prompt was one of Paia's? Let's just go ahead and blame them anyway! ;)


End file.
